Double Agent
by Proseac
Summary: When a Marine Gunnery Sergeant is found dead in the parking lot behind a west end coffee shop, the MCRT is called to investigate. Well, MOST of the MCRT. A certain Supervisory Field Agent isn't leading the charge this time. What gives?


**AN: This is entirely Binkybella's fault. A photo she posted on Facebook caused a plot bunny to jump up and grab me by the throat. They don't do that very often, so I had to write it so as not to be choked to death. You're welcome. ;)**

* * *

It was hinky.

Tony DiNozzo could not recall the last crime scene they'd attended without Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the midst of them, barking orders. The boss never missed an opportunity to get into the thick of it at the start of a case. It was part of his MO: get the lay of the land, the big picture; plot out his strategy; and then delegate most of the less-exciting grunt work and investigation to the team while he nudged them in one direction or another. (Well, perhaps 'nudged' was too gentle a word, but Tony wasn't one to dwell on semantics).

This time, however, the call to "Grab your gear!" had not come with Gibbs swooping past them towards the elevator with his own backpack slung over his shoulder. No, this time, he'd stayed firmly planted in his chair, as his team gaped at him expectantly.

"You coming, boss?" Tim had inquired gingerly.

Gibbs had raised an eyebrow. "You three incapable of handling a crime scene investigation on your own, McGee?"

They'd shared a brief bewildered look amongst them. "No, boss! Perfectly capable, boss. We are ON it," Tony had quickly interjected, before McGee could put his foot any deeper into the quicksand. Frowning, he'd jerked his head toward the elevator, beckoning Tim and Ellie to join him in a quick escape. Whatever was going on, Tony's spidey-sense was telling him it would not be good to stick around, now that the bear had been poked.

They'd puzzled over it all the way to the west end coffee shop behind which the Marine's body had been found. Perhaps the boss wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to admit it? (After all, he'd once declared himself immune to both colds and the flu). But there were no visible signs that he was under the weather. Maybe he'd been taken to task by Director Vance over not completing his paperwork, and needed to catch up? Tim and Tony gave Bishop a withering glance, and her suggestion was immediately ruled out. _Obviously_, the paperwork would simply have landed on _her_ desk if that had been the case.

It was a test, Tony decided. A test of what (or of _who_), he hadn't quite worked out, but he'd figure it out. He wasn't yet the Gibbs-Whisperer, but he understood the boss-man better than most anyone else, with the possible exception of Ducky. If anyone should be able to solve this mystery, it was Tony.

He took charge of the crime scene, setting Tim and Ellie to work snapping photos and bagging/tagging in the chilly February morning air. Ducky pegged the time of death at approximately 23:30 the previous evening. Tony consulted with the Metro PD officer on scene, and learned that there seemed to be no witnesses to Gunnery Sergeant Gerald Newman's death. The whole neighbourhood had already been canvassed. Tony had noticed the cute, 20-something blonde barista peering out the side window as they'd exited the MCRT van, and decided with a grin that his status as Senior Field Agent entitled him to take the questioning indoors. Besides, if experience had shown him anything, it was that baristas were like bartenders - they always knew what was what, who was doing who, and where it was all going down.

She smiled as he approached the counter. "Can I get you something for your team? You NCIS guys really love your coffee."

Curious; he hadn't even flashed his creds at her yet. She must have seen the markings on the van, he decided. He showed her his badge anyway. "I'm Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Thanks for the offer, but no, we don't normally bring coffee into a crime scene." Her face went a very pale shade of pink, but she didn't avert her gaze. He continued. "I know you already gave a statement to the police, but I'd like to hear what you have to say for myself." He laid his cell phone on the counter, and activated the audio recorder. He glanced down at the notes he'd taken in his initial debriefing with Metro, asked a few follow-up questions, and then circled back to the question that had piqued his curiosity as he'd first walked in.

"So, Amber…you've had dealings with NCIS before?"

She giggled, and winked at him. "Depends what you mean by 'dealings'. One of your agents is a VERY loyal customer of mine. He's here every Sunday morning, 5:30 am, like clockwork." She glanced over at a comfortable-looking easy chair in the corner by the front window. "That's his spot. Comes in, orders his grande cappuccino con doppio, sits and reads for a half-hour, then leaves, and we don't see him again until the next weekend. Good-looking man; if only I were a few years older…" she added wistfully.

"Wait - how do you know he's an NCIS agent? We don't go around flashing our ID for no reason." Tony's eyes narrowed, and he regarded her carefully.

"Oh, it wasn't hard to figure out," she said matter-of-factly. "There's been a few times he's dashed out of here in a bit of a hurry after getting a phone call. I got curious one time, and asked him what the rush was. He said he'd been called out to a 'case'. He made another call, and I overheard him say something about the Navy Yard." She raised her chin defiantly. "I may be blonde, but I'm not dumb."

Tony lifted his hand in self-defence. She ignored his reaction, and instead gazed out the window. "I sort of expected he'd show up here today, considering what happened to poor Gerry…"

Tony's cell phone rang just then, an image of Gibbs appearing on the display. It drew Amber's attention, and she exclaimed, "That's him! That's Leroy." Tony gave her an incredulous stare, then glanced back down at his phone, regarding it with a strange mixture of glee, bewilderment and horror. "Oh! Tell him I've got his iPad. He rushed out of here last weekend, and I found it when I was wiping tables. Maybe you could take it to him?" She held up a finger, beckoning Tony to wait, and scampered into the back room.

For once in his life, Tony DiNozzo found himself truly speechless. Mercifully, the phone stopped ringing. He was breaking Rule Number Three, but really, he asked himself, what else was he supposed to do under these circumstances?

"Hey, Tony. We're done out here. You gonna be much longer?" Tim huffed in the doorway, stomping his feet for warmth.

"Be right out, McHasty. Start the van." Catching a glimpse of the lovely Amber as she made her way back behind the counter, Tim rolled his eyes and sighed, resigned to the fact that he and Ellie would be waiting for a good few minutes yet while DiNozzo got her name, number and measurements. "At least bring us a coffee on your way out, Tony? Some of us need to warm up," he fired back, making only a slight attempt to hide the exasperation in his voice. As a parting shot, nodding towards Amber, he added, "Looks like you're already warmed up." And with that, he let the door swing shut behind him.

"What a save, Anthony," Tony muttered under his breath.

* * *

He made his way down the basement steps, savouring the scent of sandalwood and bourbon. Gibbs was labouring over a piece of wood, meticulously chiseling tiny indentations into it at various angles. He didn't bother looking up.

"You never answered my call." Tony remained mute. "Case closed?"

"Yeah. Ducky confirmed that he died of natural causes - massive heart attack. Congenital defect, previously undetected. Good thing it happened before he got behind the wheel. He already had the car keys in his hand." Tony approached the workbench, reached inside his coat and pulled out a plastic bag, tightly wrapped around a flat, rectangular object. "This is from Amber."

Gibbs' head shot up, and he regarded his SFA in the way that prey regards a predator moving in for the kill. Tony smiled inwardly. He set the bag down on the workbench, turned, and headed back up the stairs without another word. He could feel the boss' eyes boring a hole in his back, and knew that for once, he, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, had the upper hand in this relationship.

"Don't worry, boss," he shot back over his shoulder as he reached the top step. "Rule Number Four. Your secret's safe with me."

THE END

9


End file.
